Every Other Weekend
by ibelieveinthegood
Summary: An Addison and Mark in New York story. How will they balance life in the Big Apple, their divorce and their little girls?
1. Every Other Friday, Part One

Hey, guys, I know I've been out of the fic game for a long long long time... but I heard the song, as always, and my mind ran away with the idea. This will have 6 updates, tentatively, 3 for Addison and 3 for Mark. By all means, let me know what you think! Thanks!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Grey's Anatomy, etc.

**Every Other Weekend**

**Reba McEntire and **_Kenny Chesney_

**Every other Friday****  
><strong>**It's toys and clothes and backpacks****  
><strong>**Is everybody in?****  
><strong>**Okay, let's go see Dad****  
><strong>**Same time in the same spot****  
><strong>**Corner of the same old parking lot****  
><strong>**Half the hugs and kisses****  
><strong>**There are always sad****  
><strong>**We trade a couple words and looks and kids again****  
><strong>**Every other weekend****  
><strong>  
><em>Every other weekend<em>_  
><em>_Very few exceptions__  
><em>_I pick up the love we made in both my arms__  
><em>_It's movies on the sofa__  
><em>_Grilled cheese and cut the crust off__  
><em>_"But that's not the way Mom makes it, Daddy" breaks my heart__  
><em>_I miss everything I used to have with her again__  
><em>_Every other weekend__  
><em>  
><em>But I can't tell her I love her<em>  
><strong>I can't tell him I love him<strong>**  
><strong>_Cuz there's too many questions and_  
><em><strong>Ears in the car<strong>_  
>So I don't tell him I miss him<br>_I don't tell her I need her_  
><em><strong>She's(He's) over me, that's where we are<strong>__**  
><strong>__**So we're as close as we might ever be again**__**  
><strong>__**Every other weekend**__**  
><strong>_  
><strong>Every other Saturday<strong>**  
><strong>**First thing in the morning****  
><strong>**I turn the TV on to make the quiet go away****  
><strong>**I know why, but I don't know why****  
><strong>**We ever let this happen****  
><strong>**Falling for forever was a big mistake****  
><strong>**There's so much not to do, and all day not to do it in****  
><strong>**Every other weekend****  
><strong>  
><em>Every other Sunday<em>_  
><em>_I empty out my backseat__  
><em>_While my children hug their mother in the parking lot__  
><em>_We don't touch__  
><em>_We don't talk much__  
><em>_Maybe goodbye to each other__  
><em>_Then she drives away with every piece of heart I've got__  
><em>_I re-convince myself we did the right thing__  
><em>_Every other weekend__  
><em>  
><em>So I can't tell her I love her<em>  
><strong>I can't tell him I love him<strong>  
><em>Cuz there's too many questions and<em>_  
><em>_**Ears in the car**__**  
><strong>_**So I don't tell him I miss him**  
><em>I don't tell her I need her<em>_  
><em>_**She's(He's) over me, that's where we are**__**  
><strong>__**So we're as close as we might ever be again**__**  
><strong>__**Every other weekend**__**  
><strong>_  
><em>Yeah for fifteen minutes we're a family again<em>  
><strong>God, I wish that he was still with me again<strong>  
><em><strong>Every other weekend... <strong>_

-xXx-

The room is white, sterile. Crowded. Machines and IVs click and beep intermittently, monitoring both baby and mom's heartbeats. Nurses flutter about around me, updating me on the status of my patients. I suck in a deep breath behind my mask, and step into the gown. "Okay, mom, dad," I say as the sterile latex gloves slap against my skin. I glance to the clock on the wall – 1 p.m. With any luck, this little one will be born just in time for me to get my kids from school. "This is it. Time to push."

The dad – Patrick – nods enthusiastically, perking up. The mom – Vanessa – lets out an exasperated groan-slash-sigh; after nearly 18 hours in active labor, I know she's exhausted and sore. Patrick takes Vanessa's hand and squeezes it supportively as he presses a quick kiss to her damp forehead. "Come on, baby," he soothes, and I can't quite tell if he's talking to his girlfriend or his almost-born baby.

"Okay, Patrick," I direct as I take a seat near the edge of the bed. "We'll use the stirrups to make this easy on everyone. You hold her hand, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees happily, a second-wind burst of adrenaline obviously coursing through his veins. "Okay."

"And Vanessa," I say, smiling behind my mask, "with every contraction, put your chin to your chest and bear down. Your body and Mother Nature will do the rest. And when it hurts, which it will, you take Patrick's hand and squeeze that sucker 'til it breaks, okay?"

She manages a small laugh and says, "Sounds good, Dr. Montgomery."

"Perfect," I say, watching the monitor. In about two seconds, her next contraction begins, so I say, "Okay, Vanessa… push!"

She bears down, letting out another groan as Patrick slowly counts to ten, just like we talked about an hour ago. "Breathe, Vanessa, breathe," he coaches.

"Don't you tell me what to do!" she snaps as another contraction begins, just mere seconds after the first one ends. "Christ!"

"You're doing a great job," I coach, my voice soft and reassuring. "Big, deep breaths."

"Big deep breaths," Vanessa repeats as she bears down and pushes again.

After several more minutes of the same – pushing, coaching, yelling – the baby's head is crowning. "Wanna have a peek, dad?" I ask, in between contractions. He looks to Vanessa for approval; she nods ever so slightly, exhaustion and frustration clear on her face. "Lots of dark hair," I say as Vanessa lets go of his hand. He stretches it out as he joins me at the foot of the bed.

"I see our baby," he nearly whispers, tears already forming in his gray-green eyes. "We're so close, baby. So close."

"Oh, shut up, Patrick! You're so annoying," Vanessa grunts as another contraction hits and she gives baby a big push… one big enough where I can turn her face and begin suctioning. Patrick, unsure of what to do, looks to me for reassurance as Vanessa screams through the pain.

"Get up there, daddy. She needs you," I say softly, guiding baby's shoulders out of the birth canal. He nods and climbs into the bed beside her, squeezing her shoulders for support.

"Two more pushes, Vanessa. And your baby will be here," I say, glancing to the clock again – 1: 27 p.m. Baby is making a quick entrance into the world, and for that, I am grateful.

Vanessa, newly motivated, pushes again with the next contraction, and the shoulders are free. With the final push, the baby – a girl, I quickly announce – makes her grand entrance into the world, just shy of 1:30 p.m. I suction out her nose and mouth again and rub her back with a receiving blanket, willing her to cry. The nurse hands Patrick the instrument as he snips the cord.

"Come on, baby," I soothe, as I continue to warm her up. Patrick looks tense, Vanessa panicked. "Come on." After an excruciating thirty seconds – which felt like a lifetime – the baby cooperates and lets out a warbled cry. Fresh tears cascade down her parents' cheeks as a nurse whisks the baby away to be measured, weighed and swaddled. I turn away here – this moment is always private, one that brings me back to the birth of my own children.

"_Can you believe it?" Mark whispers as I let out fresh tears, a mix of relief and pure joy. "Our baby is here, Addison, she's here."_

"_Ella's here," I whisper back, looking up into his tear-filled eyes as our newborn daughter's cries fill the hospital room. He leans down and pushes my sweaty bangs off of my face and kisses me – hard – and it's then I know we're a family of three. The nurse, Shannon, brings our tiny baby over to us and places her in my arms. _

"_Hi, Ella," I coo. "I'm your mommy, and this is your daddy," I manage to whisper, my voice cracking as I place a gentle kiss on our daughter's forehead. Though my relationship with her father effectively ended my first marriage, I wouldn't trade this moment for anything else in the world. She's my miracle. She lazily blinks as her cries subside, turning into gentle baby hiccups. Mark kisses my head again._

"_Wanna hold her?" I ask._

_He nods excitedly. "Of course."_

"Dr. Montgomery?" the nurse prompts and I'm jarred back to reality. "Baby girl…"

"Avery," Vanessa corrects, looking lovingly into her boyfriend's eyes. He nods and presses a tiny kiss to the baby's forehead.

"Avery is weighing in at 7 pounds, 6 ounces. 20 inches long," Katie says with a smile. "She looks good so far."

"Thanks, Katie," I say, suddenly back into doctor mode. "Let's get this placenta delivered, and we'll take Avery here to the nursery for her first check-up. Sound like a plan, mom and dad?"

Vanessa and Patrick nod. We all work together to finish the special delivery and get cleaned up. Once it's finished, another OBGYN enters the room.

"Look who's just in time," I tease my colleague. "Vanessa, Patrick, I've got to run and get my girls from school and take them to my… their dad. You're in good hands here with Dr. Jonas. Call my cell if you have any questions or concerns, and I'll be back at the hospital first thing in the morning to see you."

"Alright," Vanessa says with a smile. "Thank you, Dr. Montgomery… for _everything_."

"Don't mention it," I reply, snapping the rubber gloves off. "Thanks for being here, Dr. Jonas," I add.

"No prob, Doc," he says with a sympathetic smile. I ignore the gesture as I wave goodbye to my patients. I make a quick run by the nursery to see little Avery, and just short of 2:30 on a Friday afternoon, I'm out of the hospital and racing to my daughters' school to meet my nanny and my youngest.

-xXx-

Every other Friday, my new routine is very much the same. I wake up two hours earlier than I usually do. I sneak downstairs, avoiding soft spots on the floor so I don't wake my girls up, and make them a special breakfast. As I impatiently wait for my coffee – breakfast of champions – to brew, I'm packing up three matching pink, sparkly backpacks. I make sure to pack some of their comfort items – Ella, her stuffed bunny, Madelyn, her baby blanket, and Grace, an extra pacifier, even though I know, at 18 months, I should probably start weaning her off of it. Then I pack up their clothes and a few other things I know they'll want while they're at Mark's apartment.

I wake the girls up and we eat breakfast together. Ella tells me about her latest-and-greatest project at school. At age six, she's crazy smart, far surpassing the expectations of her first grade teachers. Madelyn chatters about something new she's learning at preschool, or one of her new little friends, and Gracie laughs and babbles at just about everything. After breakfast, we brush teeth and get into school uniforms. Our nanny, Abigail, arrives just after 6 a.m., and I take my eldest two to school, while leaving Gracie in the nanny's care.

I work from 7 a.m. to 2 p.m., if I can help it, so I can make it to the school to get the girls at 3. They love when I get to pick them up from school – it doesn't happen very often, but during the divorce, when we were settling custody arrangements, I made it a point to get them from school, so I could see their beautiful smiles and get some of the best little girl hugs in the world before I send them off to see Mark for the weekend.

Today, I'm there at 3:07, just a tad late, but Abigail – my lifesaver, especially lately – had signed Maddy out of preschool, and was entertaining the girls on the playground.

"Sorry, I'm late, girly goos," I say as they all see me at the same time.

"Mommy!" Maddy screeches, hopping off the swing and racing toward me. Gracie claps and laughs, a smile spread wide across her chubby baby cheeks.

"Did you help a baby get born?" Ella asks with a sincere smile, standing with her hands on her hips, looking so much like Mark that it almost makes my stomach hurt.

I nod and smile. "I sure did. A girl today. Her name is Avery," I inform my daughter.

"Cool," she grins – her four front teeth still missing, her expression literally melts my heart – and steps closer to hug me. "You're not as late as daddy was that one time. Remember?"

"I remember," I reply, thinking back to the time where Mark was nearly 45 minutes late picking Ella up from kindergarten. "Speaking of your daddy, it's almost time to meet him at the park. Do you have any homework, El?"

"Yeah, but daddy can help," she says, her green eyes sparkling with excitement. I know that she and Mark have a special bond. "We're going to the Yankees game tomorrow," she informs me.

"Maddy and Gracie, too?"

"Dunno," she shrugs, and I bounce Gracie on my hip, eliciting a tiny laugh from my baby girl. "I guess so."

"Hmm," I reply. He didn't say anything about it to me, which is not unusual for Mark, especially lately. If there's one thing he loves more than his girls, it's the Yankees. Though I don't know how I feel about him taking my 18-month-old to the new Yankee stadium in the Bronx, especially on a weekend where the Yankees are playing the Red Sox, I bite my tongue and smile. "Ready to go girls?"

"Yeah!" My oldest daughters chorus together, racing ahead of me to our SUV, where their suitcases and backpacks are waiting in the back.

"Thanks, Abigail," I say to the nanny. "Are you…"

"I'm free tomorrow," she says with a reassuring smile. "If Mark needs me to watch Grace, have him call me."

"Thanks," I say. "I swear, I would lose my mind without you."

"I get it," Abigail says with a kind smile. "See you Monday, Addison. Bye, Gracie baby. Be good for your daddy," she adds as she tickles Grace's chubby thigh.

"Say bye-bye to Abigail," I prompt Grace, bouncing her on my hip once again as I take a step toward our car. "Buh-bye," she manages, waving her little fingers at the nanny, who falls in step behind us to her own car.

-xXx-

"And today, Parker brought a worm in from recess," Ella explains, wrinkling her nose. I watch Grace attempt to mimic her big sister through my rearview mirror, and I smile. "Miss Cooper did NOT like that at all. He dropped it on the floor and squished it with his shoe!"

"Ew!" Maddy screeches.

"Maddy, inside voices," I remind my rambunctious four-year-old.

"Sorry," she replies. "Ew," she repeats in a whispered tone.

"Yeah, and you know what else?" Ella asks, widening her already-big emerald eyes.

"What?" Maddy and I say together, which prompts a giggle from my little girl.

Ella claps her hands and says, "She sent him to the principal's office. And the principal called his mom!"

"Oh no," Maddy giggles.

I listen as the conversation turns to something else, and Grace babbles and repeats random words. It's times like this – when I'm taking them to Mark, and it's just us four in the car – that I love the most, that I wish would last forever. But as we make our way to "the spot"—the East 96th Street Playground at Central Park – I know it won't last forever, and it always ends in goodbyes – for me – and hellos – for him.

I park the car, by some miracle, in a spot just across from the park's entrance. All three of my girls – even Gracie – are well versed in exiting the car in New York. Ella unbuckles Gracie and exits on the passenger (sidewalk) side, with Madelyn hot on her heels. I hoist Grace out of her seat and plant her on my hip and hand the girls their backpacks.

"You packed Bunny, right, mom?" Ella asks, more out of habit than anything else. In the last six months, since this every other weekend ping-pong game began, we've only forgotten Bunny once, and it ended in me taking the stuffed toy to my hysterical then-five-year-old at 3 in the morning.

"I sure did, sweetheart," I murmur as I grab the rolling duffel that, for now, comfortably fits clothes for all three of the kids and hand it off to Ella. The last thing I need is the diaper bag, which I swing onto my arm with Grace's backpack. She buries her head in my neck, a true mama's girl.

"Ready, kiddos?" I ask as I shut the door and lock the car and glance down to my eldest two daughters.

"Ready," they reply in unison, Ella taking Maddy's right hand in her left. As soon as we get the signal, we cross the street to the playground. Exhausted, I plop down on the bench with Grace, backpacks, the diaper bag and their duffel around me, as we wait for Mark.

After about fifteen minutes, and right on time, Mark arrives, slightly out of breath. "Sorry, I'm late," he apologizes before I can even mumble a word.

"You're not," I politely say. "Ella tells me you're taking the girls to the game tomorrow." My tone is colder, chilly.

He sighs. "We have box seats, a thing from a prospective supplier," Mark explains. "We'll be in a suite. I'll douse them with sunscreen, Addison. I won't even have a beer, for God sakes. I'm bringing a sitter—"

"That's fine, then, Mark. I just didn't want Grace…"

"I know," he replies, clipping his words. "Jesus, Addison, I'll be careful."

"Fine," I reply, knowing that at this point, it's useless to argue with him. Our conversation is over, and we fall into an awkward silence, waiting for Madelyn and Ella to notice that he's joined me.

_Five, four, three, two…_

"DADDY!" the girls yell, each abandoning their swing on the playground and running towards us as fast as their little legs could carry them. "Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Ella continues as Maddy falls behind, panting slightly.

He scoops her up and she peppers kisses all over his cheeks, squeezing him tightly. My heart thumps hard in my chest – they've always had a special bond, and I know the divorce has been hard on our oldest girl – and I swallow the growing lump in my throat, the lump that arrives every other Friday, no matter how many times we do this.

"Hi, princess," he soothes her, squeezing her tight one last time before he sets her down and turns his attention to Madelyn. She waves shyly and squeezes his legs; he bends down and hugs her, pressing a kiss to her fine, blondish hair. "Hey, Maddy girl."

"Hi, Daddy," she says softly, pulling away from him and glancing back up at Grace and me.

"Okay, girls, say bye to your mommy," he says for me. Ella immediately obeys and hugs and kisses me.

"Love you, mom," she whispers, and I kiss her cheek one more time.

"Make sure you take good care of your sisters," I whisper.

My toothless wonder smiles and nods and squeezes me one more time, and her sister interrupts, hugging me around Grace. "Bye, mommy," Maddy says sadly, her perfect pink lips folding into a pout. "I love you lots and lots."

"I love you too, sunshine, and you be a good girl for your daddy this weekend, okay? And stay with him and El tomorrow at the game," I instruct her and she nods along.

"K," she says softly.

I kiss her forehead, and then stand up, still balancing Grace in my arms. She buries her head back in my neck, and I rub her back slowly, whispering my goodbyes to my littlest one. Ella and Maddy swing their glittery backpacks onto their backs. I kiss Grace's cheeks over and over again, as many times as she'll let me, and as I hand her over to Mark, the temper tantrum begins.

She stretches her arms out to me and cries, alligator tears streaming down her already-red cheeks. She kicks against Mark, and he struggles to hold her close. I lean over and kiss her, and fight the urge to take her back in my arms – it won't help her any to prolong the inevitable, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. Fighting my own tears, I quickly grab the pacifier out of her bag and pop it into her mouth, muffling her sobs for me.

"Bye, Gracie baby," I whisper, my voice nearly cracking as I hand Mark the diaper bag and Grace's backpack. "I love you girls, have fun with daddy, okay?"

"Okay," the older two reply, once again in unison. Mark nods at me, still struggling with Gracie, and I know I should go now before it gets worse.

I turn and walk away from him and our girls, my heart pinching and pulling as I do, and before I can even help it, tears are streaming down my face. It hasn't gotten any easier, and I doubt it will – at least not until they're more grown up. I quickly cross the street, only looking back once to see where they are. Maddy catches my eye and waves at me; I bite my lip, blow her a kiss and wave back. As they walk the opposite way – Grace, still crying, and Madelyn and Ella already chattering away – I put my car into drive, and head back to my now-vacant brownstone to spend another weekend alone.

-xXx-


	2. Every Other Friday, Part Two

**SORRY! So sorry that this has taken me this long to get up! I work at a busy retail chain and we're having our huge summer clearance sale... I've had 3 days off since June 2nd, so really, my time is not my own. Many many apologies! Hope you like it! This is Mark with his girls; next chapter is Addison without them. ;) And I'll try to get it up sooner - swear!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Grey's Anatomy, et al.**

Days blend together, one after the other, flashing by in that stereotypical "New York minute," especially now, since most of my days are spent alone. I wake up, shower and head to work, grabbing a coffee and a muffin on my way into the practice every single day. When people… who am I kidding, when _women_… learn that I am a plastic surgeon, they assume that it's for boob jobs and lipo, nose jobs and scar removal. I'll be perfectly honest – it used to be that way. But since my oldest daughter was born… something changed, and I switched focus, specializing in pediatric plastic surgery, working with kids who were scarred from accidents and fires, or were born with cleft lips and palates, or other physical birth defects.

A lot of that, admittedly, was Addison's influence. She referred several of her newborn patients and their families to me, which inspired the practice that I now own and work in every single day. I can't help but think of her every time I step into my office, or I see a patient she referred to me at a post-op check-up – knowing that we can still work together, at least professionally.

My routine changes, though, every other weekend, as our girls are mine for two and a half days, as we agreed in our court-settled custody arrangement. I leave work early, make sure the apartment is cleaned up, and meet my ex-wife and my little girls at a playground in Central Park. The benefits of working in a private practice shine every time one of my weekends rolls around – no work, no on-call shifts, no surgery – from 2 p.m. Friday until 7 a.m. Monday. My attention is focused solely on my girls.

Surgery today, though, runs late, and I know I have to run if I want to make it to the park by 4:15, the designated bait-and-switch time. I only live a couple of blocks from Central Park – my apartment is on Fifth Avenue, after all, the heart of the city – so if I'm going from home, it's not a big deal. When I'm coming from the practice, it's a cross-town subway ride and a good-distanced walk, and I always make it in time. But if I'm at a hospital – it could be in any of the burrows, but luckily, I was only up the street at Mount Sinai today. It's a good jog from the hospital to the playground, and I am cutting it close. And God forbid I show up late.

Breathlessly, I reach the playground just shy of 4:15. I pause to catch my breath, and I watch as Ella and Maddy swing on the swings. Addison sits on a bench, surrounded by the girls' stuff that we have to lug through the park, bouncing Gracie on her lap. Grace never takes her eyes off of her mother, and a bout of jealousy (with a touch of guilt) courses through my veins.

It's now or never though. "Sorry I'm late," I say before she can even make a sound.

"You're not," she smiles at first, but then narrows her eyes. A breeze whips around us. "Ella tells me you're taking the girls to the game tomorrow." Her tone is colder, almost a warning now.

I, almost involuntarily, sigh. "We have box seats, a thing from a prospective supplier," I tell her the truth. "We'll be in a suite. I'll douse them with sunscreen, Addison. I won't even have a beer, for God sakes. I'm bringing a sitter—" Frustration seeps through my words.

"That's fine, then, Mark. I just didn't want Grace…" she defends, adjusting the baby on her hip, her expression still cautious.

"I know," I say shortly. "Jesus, Addison, I'll be careful."

"Fine," she replies, clearly pissed off.

At this point, I know it's useless to argue with her. She knows I'm a good dad, but it's shit like that… I shake my head and bite my tongue. The conversation is over, and we fall into an awkward, but not unusual silence, as we wait for the girls to notice that I'm here.

_Five, four, three, two…_

"DADDY!" the girls yell, each abandoning their swing on the playground and running towards us as fast as their little legs could carry them. "Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Ella continues as Maddy falls behind, panting slightly.

I scoop my oldest girl up and she peppers kisses all over my cheeks, squeezing me with all of her might. I glance at Addison, and her expression tenses – my relationship with Ella has always been a sore spot in our marriage. But so has her bond with Gracie.

"Hi princess," I greet my girl, pulling her tight and hugging her once again before I put her back down. I focus my attention on my middle daughter, my Madelyn. I bend down and hug her, pressing a kiss to her fine, blondish hair. "Hey, Maddy girl."

"Hi, Daddy," she says softly, pulling away from me. She then looks back up at her mother and sister.

"Okay, girls, say bye to your mommy," I say after an awkward pause, knowing that this is the part that kills Addison. Ella, always the good girl, immediately obeys and hugs and kisses her mother.

"Love you, mom," she whispers, and Addison kisses her cheek one last time.

"Make sure you take good care of your sisters," she whispers to our daughter, and I smile – at first, the statement pissed me off, but I realized that it was more of an Addison-control-freak thing than an I'm-an-inadequate-father thing.

Our toothless little girl smiles and nods and gives her mom one more hug, and her sister interrupts, throwing her arms around both Addison and Grace. "Bye, mommy," Maddy says sadly, her perfect pink lips folding into a pout. "I love you lots and lots."

"I love you too, sunshine, and you be a good girl for your daddy this weekend, okay? And stay with him and El tomorrow at the game," Addison instructs, and this time I do roll my eyes – we'll be just fine, and she knows it.

"K," she says softly.

Addison kisses her forehead, and then stands up, still balancing Grace in her arms. The baby buries her head back into Addi's neck, and Addison rubs her back slowly, whispering goodbyes and love yous to our baby girl. Ella and Maddy swing their glittery backpacks onto their backs. Addison kisses Grace's cheeks over and over again, as many times as she'll let her before she hands her over to me and the hysterics start.

It's like this every time, no matter what. She stretches her arms out to Addison and screams, crocodile tears splashing down her chubby baby cheeks. Grace kicks against me, and I almost struggle to hold her – she's strong (and strong-willed, just like her mother). Addison kisses her one more time, and I know it's taking every ounce of strength she has not to scoop the baby out of my arms. This is something we've discussed in the past – she has to let her cry it out, even though it's heartbreaking. For her and for me. She pulls a pink pacifier out of the pink backpack and pops it into Grace's mouth, somewhat muffling the sobs that escape our little drama queen.

"Bye, Gracie baby," she whispers, and I swear her voice almost cracks as she shoves the diaper bag and Grace's backpack toward me. "I love you girls, have fun with daddy, okay?"

"Okay," the older two reply, once again in unison. I nod at her, still struggling with Gracie, and I know she knows that it's my turn now, and that her staying will only make it worse. So she turns away from us, and I know it's killing her – after six months, it doesn't get any easier.

And I know this, because two days from now, the roles will be reversed, and my heart will be breaking during the goodbye session.

-xXx-

"What's for dinner, daddy?" an angelic Maddy asks somewhere around 6 p.m. She bats her eyelashes at me, awaiting a response. Ella, bent over her math workbook at the kitchen table, rolls her eyes at her sister and sighs.

"What do we always have for dinner on Fridays, dummy?" Ella retorts, speaking of the horrible pizza phase we'd gone through for the better part of the last six months.

I sigh. "Ella, don't call your sister names," I say. "Mac and cheese? And strawberries?"

"Yuck," my somewhat unpredictable four-year-old retorts.

"What? You don't like macaroni now?" Two weeks ago, it had been her sole request.

"Nuh-uh," she whines. "Can you make grilled cheese? And 'mato soup?"

"It's her latest thing," Ella explains. "They had a cooking day at school, and Miss Amy made them grilled cheese and tomato soup. And mommy made it for us last weekend, and it's all she wants now."

"I think I can manage some grilled cheese," I reply. "Is that good with you, Ella?"

"Yeah," she grins, exposing her pink gums and slowly incoming big girl teeth. "It's easy to eat."

"Right," I smile back at her and tell the girls that I'm going to check on Grace, who had cried herself to sleep. She's still asleep in her playpen, thumb in her mouth, little baby tush in the air. She wiggles around as she dreams, and I can only hope that she'll wake up soon and in a better mood.

I pad back down the hallway toward the kitchen, and open the cupboards, praying that the loaf of bread I have is still edible. It is a bit stale, but not yet moldy – perfect for grilled cheese. I open a couple of cans of condensed tomato soup and dump it into a pot and add the water. I stir it around and turn the heat down to medium-low so it heats to the perfect temperature. I grab the butter and cheese from the fridge, and fish the griddle out of the oven where I keep the pots and pans.

I butter the bread, and it sizzles as I toss it on the heated griddle. I add the cheese and top piece of bread and turn the heat down on that burner, too. I grab the strawberries out of the fridge and cut them up anyways – this way, they'll get a somewhat balanced meal, something that I know is important… and is something that Addison has coached me to over the last few years.

"Ella," I call out, "can you go grab Gracie from the bedroom, please? And Madelyn, wash your hands for dinner, okay, sunshine? And make sure Gracie and Ella do, too."

"Okay, daddy," they echo as I flip the sandwiches over, revealing a perfect golden-brown half. _Just a few minutes more._

I cut the heat as I hear the girls return to the table, hands washed and waiting. Gracie is chattering away with Ella about _something_, and Maddy chimes in every couple of seconds. It's these moments – the unexpected ones – that I miss them the most. I grab three bowls out of the cupboard for the soup – I'll share mine with Grace – and divvy it up; before I take it to their table, I toss an ice cube into each bowl, a trick I learned, of course, from Addison, and one that I know will make them feel more at home.

"Ooh," Madelyn says, her brown eyes wide and appreciative as I set the bowl down in front of her.

"Careful," I say as I turn on my heel to get their plates.

I cut the sandwiches into 4 pieces, and for Grace, I cut it into more manageable pieces, and add some strawberries to their plates. As a throwback to my prior job as a waiter, I balance the four pink, plastic plates on my arms and head back to my hungry, waiting kids.

"Dinner is served, girls," I say as I set the plates down, and immediately I know I must have done something wrong.

Madelyn wrinkles her nose. _Here it comes._ "That's not how mommy does it, daddy," she whines, pushing the plate away from her.

"How does Mom make it?" I ask, trying not to take it personally – grilled cheese is a new endeavor for us, but at the same time, it's times like this where I wish Addison were here. She knows how to cook for picky little girls; I sure as hell don't.

"Maddy, shut up and eat it," Ella groans as she takes a bite of her sandwich. Maddy pouts.

"Ella…," I warn.

She looks up at me apologetically. "Sorry, daddy," she says softly, taking a sip of her juice box.

"How does mommy do it?" I ask Madelyn again, who now has the same crocodile tears her baby sister cried just a few hours earlier streaming down her face.

"I want mommy!" is her only response, and my heart pinches. "I miss mommy!"

_I want your mommy here, too_, is the one thing I want to tell her – but I know I can't. I take a big, deep breath in attempt to uphold my confidence and look to Ella for help. Grace happily chews on a strawberry, unaware of the meltdown happening in front of her.

"Well," she says, shooting daggers at her little sister, a look I know she perfected from Addison, "for one thing, Mom cuts the crusts off, Dad. _Duh._ And she cuts 'em up into triangles, like an X in the bread," she explains as she takes another bite of her sandwich.

"I can cut the crusts off," I offer, shrugging my shoulders as I glance back to Madelyn, who looks like neither Addison nor me, the perfect mix of us. She wipes at her face and begrudgingly nods. "Next time, I promise, I'll cut it into triangles, okay, Mad?"

She sniffles and nods, her cries subsiding into hiccups. I reach over and grab her plate before standing and walking back toward the kitchen.

_"God, Maddy, you're such a baby," Ella almost-whispers, her tone obviously not pleased. "You're making daddy sad. You know we can't talk about mommy when we're here. Knock it off, okay?"_

My heart sinks.

_"K," Madelyn sniffles._

I quickly cut the crusts off, and cut the tiny squares of sandwich into 8 triangles, hoping this would please my middle daughter. I take a deep breath and pick the plate up and head back to my girls.

"Thanks, Daddy," Maddy says, smiling at me, her cheeks still tear-stained and eyes glassy.

"You're welcome, baby," I reply, setting her plate back down in front of her, holding my breath. When she sees the 8 tiny triangles, she squeals with delight, and happily picks one up. _Yes._ "Better?"

"Much," she answers between bites, and we fall back into a normal dinner routine as we finish our meal.

-xXx-

An hour and a half later, after dinner is cleaned up, and the girls are bathed and in matching princess jammies, we sit together on the sofa, Gracie on my lap, Ella to my right and Madelyn on my left, using my arm as a pillow. Some Disney movie – _The Little Mermaid_, I think – dances before us on the screen. My little girls fight sleep, and as I glance to the clock and see that it's almost 8, it's time for them to go to bed.

"Well," I say, shifting to pause the movie. "We've got a busy day tomorrow, girls. What do you say we go to bed?"

"Okay," the oldest two say, and Grace pops her thumb into her mouth and twirls her red hair in her fingers.

"Go brush your teeth," I tell them as they stand and Ella takes Maddy's hand in hers, the name calling from earlier already forgiven and forgotten. I turn Gracie in my arms, and she rests her head on my shoulder, and I breathe in her scent – baby shampoo and sweetness – as I stand. I tell the girls I'll meet them in their room, and they tell me okay.

For now, all three girls share a room in my two-bedroom apartment. When they get older, and when my lease is up, we'll move into a bigger apartment, where at least Ella can have her own room. This was only supposed to be a temporary fix, though; the separation wasn't supposed to lead to divorce. But now? It's done.

I lay Gracie down in her crib, and she snuggles right up to her blanket. I lean over and kiss her baby cheeks and tell her I love her. She sleepily smiles at me and blinks once, twice, three times before succumbing to sleep.

I wait for Ella and Madelyn to join us in the room, and within seconds, they're racing into the bedroom and hopping into their shared queen-sized bed. They erupt into soft giggles, and I hate to do it, but I shush them, so they don't wake their sister.

"She sleeps through anything, daddy," Ella whisper-giggles, flopping backwards onto the bed and pulling the covers over herself and Maddy. Maddy nods enthusiastically and grins at me, and my heart pinches – they've got me wrapped around their little fingers, and they know it, too.

"Okay, okay," I say in a tone not much louder than a whisper. "Which story do we want tonight, girls?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

"Good night moon!" they say in unison, and I smile, knowing that they haven't changed yet.

"All right," I reply, pulling the book off the makeshift-nightstand (aka TV tray) beneath the window sill. "In the great green room there was a…"

"Telephone!" they say together.

I continue the story, with my little girls interjecting every so often. I glance to them in between words and phrases – I don't even need the book, truth be told, but it's part of the routine, and my therapist tells me routines will help the girls during the divorce and its aftermath – Maddy's eyelashes flutter as she fights sleep, much like little Gracie did, and Ella plops her thumb into her mouth, a habit that she's recently reverted to (but both Addison and I were told that's normal, too).

"Good night stars, good night air," I whisper as they both drift off to sleep, peaceful smiles on their faces. "Good night noises, everywhere," I add, leaning over to kiss Ella on the cheek. I stand up and kiss Madelyn good night, too, and pull the covers up over them, re-tucking them back in.

I pull the window shade down, blocking out the New York City street lights, and flick their little nightlight on.

I pause at the door and take a deep breath; I listen to double check that they're all asleep, their gentle inhales and exhales filling the room. I smile. They're here. I step out into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind me – _click. _We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow – a long day that will be filled with sunshine, laughter, and plenty of daddy-daughter memories.

-xXx-


End file.
